


The Space Between

by madwomanwithabox



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Even Parrish Knows Stydia Is Endgame, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Marrish, Season 5 Interlude, Stalia, Stydia, Transitional Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-17 13:57:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4669157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madwomanwithabox/pseuds/madwomanwithabox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia refuses to admit, even to herself, that she's waiting for Stiles...but even Jordan can see it, and reminds her that she doesn't have to wait alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Space Between

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place somewhere post "Required Reading" and pre "Status Asthmaticus," and per Jeff Davis's comments on Lydia admitting to her feelings for Parrish with that handhold in his cell? This is the precursor to her inner acceptance. In a more meta context, this is more or less my feelings on Stalia, Stydia, and Marrish in a nutshell. Basically, I LOVE THEM ALL, but Stydia is endgame and I will wallow cheerfully in all of it. Also my first TEEN WOLF fic.
> 
> This is totally unbeta'd, so be gentle, but blame me if it sucks hosewater. Dedicated to Val, Lexie, and Cupcake: my harem of Lydias who support and respect my ships even if they don't ship them, and are not opposed to helping me wallow. :P Also dedicated to Kayla, my personal Scott McCall, Angie, my personal Stiles Stilinski, and to Our Lord Satan, also known lovingly as Jeff Davis. :P

“I know I'm not him.”

“Mmmm?”

Lydia's head swiveled around to look at Jordan, whose desk she was currently perched on the edge of, answering emails on her phone. She was training with him that evening, just a couple hours, but his shift was ending in twenty minutes, so it just made sense to ride with him back to his place, and come back for her car when they were done...if Jordan even _let_ her come back for her car and didn't just drive her home for the night, and back to her car in the morning. He was prone to bouts of nobility like that...

At the moment, he was giving her that patient... _grin._ Not a smile, but broad and toothy and bright as the sun, softened with the patience of a saint because she was doing something he found amusing, or...juvenile, or just plain _stupid._ She was never sure, but she never _felt_ stupid when he looked at her like that. It was both endearing and infuriating.

“Stiles. You were staring again.”

Lydia frowned, opening her mouth to refute him...then turned back to her phone, gaze drifting up to the window of the Sheriff's office.

Where Stiles and Malia were standing, talking. He sat on the edge of his father's desk, Malia stood between his knees, her arms around his neck...

“I wasn't staring.” she insisted, turning away from it even as her chest got that strange, hollow feeling that came over her every time she saw them together. She much preferred looking at Parrish, anyway. It made the hollow feeling go away, filling it up with something warm and light. It was nothing like that comfortable familiarity she had with Stiles, that sense of being _bound_ without being tied...tethered, as Deaton had put it, secure and safe and _anchored_...but it was good.

What she had with Parrish was good, but it was just like what she had with Stiles: _nothing._ Because there was nothing to be had, there was just...

They were friends. _Good_ friends. It was fine.

“Lydia...I know I'm not him.” Jordan pressed again, gently but firmly as he reached across his desk to lay his fingers over hers. “It's okay.”

“What are you even _talking_ about?” she huffed impatiently, twisting just enough to give him her most disapproving look, without dislodging those broad, powerful fingers from hers. They felt nice, and she hadn't gotten laid in a _long_ time...

“I'm talking about my place, a few days ago.” he pointed out. “Muscle memory, remember?”

She did, too...how could she not? His arms around her, strong and safe and gentle...arms she _trusted_ , arms that would catch her if she fell, hold her if she cried...

“So?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. “I don't exactly think we're looking for the same thing here.”

“You don't know that...but that's neither here nor there. You admit it: you've thought about it.”

It was a statement, not a question, meaning this time she went for withering with her look. “Do I look blind? Yes, you're hot, you're available, and a _huge_ improvement over the kind of boys I go to school with...but for me, that's actually a little bit of a liability.” She smiled, and she couldn't help how it softened just a little, despite the fact that she was being just a little harsh right then, and damn well knew it.

“You're kind of a Boy Scout, Jordan...and I'm not for Mr. Right. I'm looking for Mr. Right There Oh God Yes.”

That finally got a reaction: that widening of his eyes, the little pout of that delicious looking mouth. Only it didn't make her want to kiss him, it just made her feel guilty. He was a friend, after all, a good one. She needed all of those she could get...and if sometimes she wished she could do more, like burrow into those strong, sturdy arms and just feel less lonely for a while, that was nobody's business of her own.

He recovered before she could apologize, however, the hand over hers shifting and curling so he was flat out holding her hand. His gaze drifted down, watching the way their fingers fit as they slotted together.

“I get it, Lydia.” he pressed, finally lifting his gaze to hers. “I'm not him, I never will be him...I just wanted to put it out there, no pressure. We're friends, I don't want to spoil that either...but we can _matter_ to each other, even if it's only for a little while.”

She hated it when he did that: painted such a clear, vivid picture with so few words it kind of left her overwhelmed and her chest tight with emotion. She could see herself like she saw Stiles and Malia right now: standing between his legs, arms around his neck, his hands on her hips...warm and light and safe.

For the moment...just until she could follow her tether back to the source.

She lowered her gaze, feeling weirdly vulnerable. Turning away from Jordan, she gently tugged her fingers free...but not before giving his hand a little squeeze.

“Let me think about it?” She hated how young she sounded just then.

He let her go without complaint. Behind her, she heard paperwork shuffling.

“I'm just putting it out there.”

She pretended to go back to her phone, but after a few moments of reading the same email three times without really absorbing it, she looked up again to see Malia stepping away from Stiles. This time, he caught her staring, and as their eyes locked she felt more than just safe and warm and protected.

When he smiled, she felt a tangible pull behind her heart. It was a greeting without words, an acknowledgment of her presence, a question about her welfare.

All of that in a look, all of that for her...all of that, which he only ever usually shared with Scott.

Sex was all well and good...and divine when it was _really_ good...but maybe Jordan wasn't such a sentimentalist after all.

Maybe an interlude wasn't such a bad thing. It might not last, and it might be brief, if the universe was kind enough to put her and Stiles back within each others' reach...but that didn't mean that she and Jordan couldn't be good and fun and wonderful. It didn't mean that she and Jordan couldn't _matter._


End file.
